"She isn't wearing anything with pockets tonight. Maybe I can slip it in her bra," I said. "I'm sure there is enough room there." Is that your idea of...racist humor," Wilson replied.I followed her to the bathroom and washed my hands several times before she came out of the stall. I smiled at her as I passed and stuck the tracker the size of a nickel on the waste band of her simple but elegant dress. The tracker had no weight to amount to anything."So Wilson do we have her?" I asked."We do. She is a beautiful woman, even though middle age has come upon her against my wishes. But beauty can be both a curse and a treasure, as I have seen again and again. When my mother's drunken boyfriend slipped into my bed in the middle of the night to rape the beautiful, twelve-year-old version of me, it was a curse. When Jason first set eyes upon me and could not believe that I smiled in return (he knew he was already showing the pattern baldness and pot belly that he would grow into), that was. More

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